A/N: Sorry this chapter took so damn long. I had it almost finished, topping out at fifteen pages, several months go. Then I got a new computer. In the process of transferring files, wouldn't you know that the ONLY file that got corrupted was this chapter. I lost the whole thing, and I got so discouraged I got writer's block like whoa.
And THEN when I started writing it again, there were... new developments. --;; I ended up having to re-plot the rest of the fic like twice. Dammit. Which, incidentally lowers the rating of the fic again. XD;;;;
And a totally random note, I HATE formatting restrictions. Scene breaks are here, but they look so shitty.
At any rate, it's finally here, and longer than the original. XD;; Hope you all like it.
I feel too close to be a-losing touch
By givin' in, what am I givin' up?
Am I losin' way too much?
"California Waiting" by Kings of Leon
Chapter Ten
Envy had just finished sucking his fingers clean when the low rumble of engines became audible over the rushing of the wind. He frowned at the interruption, and carefully crept to the edge of the roof. The snowfall had dropped off a bit now, and Envy crouched low to remain hidden. He already knew what he would see. Pride would send someone, from what Lust had let drop before she'd gone about her way. Sure enough, the military transports' lumpy shapes loomed over the hill.
One of them had an odd whirling dish on top of it. Envy recoiled with a sneer. The fucking pipsqueak's friends had beat Pride's goons. Fuck if he knew how.
Anger unfurled within him, bright and hot. The tang of blood and red stones still filled his mouth, and he felt wild with it. He didn't know who he was more furious with – Pride, for being incompetent and forbidding Envy's interference as if he had the right, or the meddlesome midget who managed to skew their best-laid plans every time. Damn them both. The other Homunculi were fools. Look at the mess they were making of a simple pack of Nosferatu, whose leader obviously wasn't playing with a full deck. And their own master grew impatient, yet all of them insisted that the Elrics would somehow miraculously strap on a pair and transmute the Stone for them.
"Fuck that," Envy growled through clenched teeth, unable to stem the urge to pound the roof with his fist. The rotting stonework cracked and snow avalanched down. "Shit!"
He bounded back, hoping the approaching vehicles hadn't seen that. He couldn't afford to leave any of them alive, if they had. His presence here had to remain hidden. Even if none of the other Homunculi intimidated him, they could make things... difficult.
He had already made a decision by coming here. He wasn't going to follow Pride's orders anymore. Pride was, aptly, too full of himself to admit he'd made a mistake, and Envy wouldn't be a part of that ship when it sank. Besides, the pipsqueak needed to be taken care of. He'd long outlived any uses they might have had for him, and he was an inconvenience. Troublesome. Lucky. If something wasn't done about him now, he might start asking questions, and someone with answers might hear. Then the whole grand design would come crashing down about their ears.
Not that Envy would admit that the elder Elric was that talented. But Fullmetal's damnable knack for being in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time, coupled with his nambie-pambie ethics and his insistence on standing up for them... He wasn't a real threat. Yet. And Envy would make sure he stayed that way.
Besides, he hated Nosferatu. Two birds with one stone... One stone...A sudden, stark, bloodthirsty grin sliced from his lips. Yes, perhaps. Perhaps. The beginnings of a plan crystallized on the surface of his mind. With a smug chuckle, he turned for the roof access door and transformed. In a drift, Kerwin's dead eyes stared to the sky as Kerwin slipped inside.
Hughes and Hawkeye stepped out of their transport almost before Ross brought it to a complete halt.
"Search and secure a perimeter," Hughes ordered.
Breda and Falman had been similarly prepared, and they hit the ground running. Ross, Bloch, and Fuery quickly followed. They tromped purposefully through the drifts, locating the perpetrators' car in the glare of headlights. Headlights? Hughes frowned. But Havoc and Ross had both cut their engines – and the lights. Speaking of, Havoc was running towards him, a fresh cigarette burning and dangling from his lips.
"Hughes! Tried to get you on the radio, but this weather's playin' hell with our transmitter. We have company," Havoc said in clipped tones as he approached, finishing when he came up level with the other two.
"More Nosferatu?" Hawkeye asked without batting an eye.
Havoc grimaced. "Who else would it be? No one else even knows we're here, right?"
Hughes scowled darkly. They wouldn't let these guys get too much of a drop on them. He turned back to the others.
"Fall back! Double-time, people, " he shouted. "Form a defensive fire line, wait for my command!"
As the last stragglers fell into crouches and leveled their rifles, the approaching vehicles roared into the yard. There were three of them, and they formed a loose semi-circle around the transports. As the newcomers slammed to an impressively simultaneous halt, large swathes of snow went flying. Hughes squinted into the glaring lights, unable to see, but able to hear as whoever they were disembarked with rapidity. He was about to give the order when someone beat him to the punch.
"In the name of Fuhrer King Bradley, drop your weapons and put your hands where we can see them!" a male voice shouted into the sudden, tense silence.
Hughes was too tense to twitch, but his face gave away his shock. "Do it."
"Sir, it could be a trick," Hawkeye said, not looking at him. She held her rifle in an unwavering grip.
"Lieutenant, stand down!" Hughes ordered. He tossed his rifle and held up his hands. "It's no trick. I recognize him."
Grudgingly, the company followed suit. A silhouette in a black military trench coat walked out in front of the headlights of the center vehicle. The man approach, smug footfalls crunching in the snow.
"Well, this is quite a surprise, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. I think you have some explaining to do."
"Lieutenant Colonel Archer," Hughes acknowledged in as neutral a tone as he could manage.
He couldn't speak for everyone, but he admitted at least he was pretty goddamn surprised. His brain was whirring. The military should have had no knowledge of this incident. Hughes knew and trusted all of the individuals on his team. While he had to allow a chance for betrayal, he also had to admit it was pretty damn unlikely. Besides, more to the point: they hadn't known where they were going to end up. Even if someone had tried to radio directions as they were driving, there had been a few times when they'd had to backtrack. If another force had been following them from the get-go, their paths would have crossed.
So that begged the question, how?
He'd figure it out later. Right now, their nearest enemy happened to be a more mundane kind of bloodsucker.
Undead or not – and in Hughes's mind, there was room for debate on that subject – there was no doubt that Archer was a threat. They had worked in the Intelligence Office together for years, though never closely. For which Hughes was grateful. The man was a notorious war-monger with solely political aims. His professional standing was comparable to Hughes's own, excepting the fact that Archer's power was ill-gotten.
He traded in favors and secrets, probably did more than dabble in blackmail, and thrived on nepotism. The fact he had no conscience whatsoever made him an uneasy ally and a formidable enemy. It also didn't help that their completely divergent personalities and personal philosophies had made them loathe the sight of each other from the day they met.
And Hughes had just let Archer catch him red-handed. He would have to tread very carefully indeed.
"What are you doing here, Hughes?" Archer ask, finally drawing near enough not to speak in a shout. "You are interfering with a sting operation. By all rights, I should consider you terrorists just by being here."
"I can vouch for the fact we are not terrorists, Lieutenant Colonel," Hughes said evenly. "We have reason to believe two officers, Colonel Mustang and Major Elric, are being held hostage inside. We came to retrieve them."
"By whose authority?" Archer asked. He was clearly enjoying having the upper hand. His chill blue eyes had not dropped from Hughes's shocked green ones. Hughes didn't think the man had even blinked.
"My own," he replied.
Hawkeye stepped forward, snapping a brisk, formal salute. They looked at her as she spoke. "Sir! Permission to speak, sir!"
"Granted," Hughes and Archer said in unison. Their eyes snapped back to each other, glares intensified.
"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes agreed to lead a recovery team at the request of Colonel Mustang's unit, sir. We had no knowledge of a sting operation already underway," Hawkeye reported..
"You should have been more thorough," Archer said. "At any rate, you are hereby required to stand down."
Hughes's eyebrows rose. "Is that an order, Lieutenant Colonel?"
"Yes, it is, Lieutenant Colonel. Your authority has been overruled. I'm here by the Fuhrer's," Archer said with obvious relish. "I'm in charge of the official search and rescue of the Colonel and the Major."
Hughes resisted a disdainful sniff. Archer was letting his need to gloat loosen his tongue. It was a total rookie mistake for anyone who called himself an intelligence officer. But Hughes filed away the tidbit, unsettled and suspicious.
The Fuhrer had been thrown in the mix the last time, too, but Lab Five had been a huge conspiracy within the highest ranks of the Amestrian military. It was no wonder the Fuhrer would have a hand in its unraveling. But this... Why would the Fuhrer himself get involved in something as comparatively minor as a kidnapping? How had he found Ed and Roy before they had? Hell, how did he know those two had been kidnapped?
Hughes's suspicions coalesced into something firmer. His instinct told him that the game he played now was a deep one indeed.
He scowled and slowly said, "I see. In that case, we will withdraw."
Hawkeye inhaled a sharp breath, but he shot her a glance before she could object. The others couldn't be happy with him, either. Especially Ross, Bloche, and Armstrong. They knew exactly what Archer was like. He just hoped that they wouldn't overreact and do something foolish.
"Very well," Archer said with a snakelike smile. Bastard thought he'd got one over on 'em.
He paused, taking in the lot of them and all their mutinous glares. His eyes hesitated on Havoc, who had not ditched his cigarette. Havoc's eyes were glazed over in a bland, insolent look, one that had gotten him officially reprimanded on several occasions.. He took a deep drag, then exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. Archer's face darkened with disgust and he turned to shout over his shoulder.
"Stand down!" He slid a look at Hughes. "These reprobates aren't a threat."
Hughes heard the company stir at this and knew he had to get them out of here. Tension hung on the air thicker than the snowfall. It would only take some small excuse. Worse, he knew if someone pulled something, he wouldn't lift a finger to stop them.
"Will that be all, Archer?"
"For the moment. We may need to question you on your involvement later," came the snide reply. "You are all remanded to your vehicles until further notice. Dismissed."
No one moved. Hughes couldn't help the way he smirked into Archer's displeased expression.
"You heard the man," he said. "Move out."
They began to leave, picking up their rifles as they went. They passed Archer almost single file. Breda's jaw jutted belligerently, and Havoc turned away and spat out his cigarette butt as he walked by. Hughes waited until Hawkeye followed them with cold precision before he hefted his own weapon. As he moved to go by, Archer stepped to block his path.
"Is there something else?" Hughes demanded. Screw formalities, he had other things to worry about now.
"I hope you filed a request for a field-testing permit. That equipment is still experimental," Archer said. He jerked his chin in the direction of the tracking van.
"Of course." He had filed the request before he'd given Ed the tracking device. He'd even received the go-ahead before they'd left in the van. "Was that all? Because I was under the impression you have a rescue operation to run."
Thin lips drew back in a sneer. "That is none of your concern."
"None of my concern? You may not have friends, Archer, but I damn well do. Two of them are being held hostage in that mansion. Even if I'm on the sidelines, I'd say I'm still concerned."
"I won't tolerate your interference. This one is mine."
Hughes's fuse ignited. "Dammit, this isn't about who gets the glory! This is about getting the Colonel and Fullmetal out alive. Can you do that, Archer? Because the papers won't call you a hero if the only neck you save is your own.."
Archer stiffened. His face became devoid of emotion, his pale skin washed stark white where the glaring headlights touched it. Sharp shadows turned his countenance into a mask, something inhuman.
"I will accomplish my mission objectives," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Stay out of my way, Hughes."
"Gladly."
They spun on their heels and stormed away from each other. The short walk back to the vans did little to calm Hughes down. Though he kept his face passably impassive, he was seething inside. He hated the fact that he had to leave the rescue of his best friend and one of the boys he thought of as surrogate sons to that piece of work. He hated being outmaneuvered, too, and he certainly hated the gleam in Archer's eye when he'd spoken of 'questioning.'
The gang was huddled together, muttering to each other. As Hughes approached, they fell silent. Yeah, he knewthat wascoming.
But instead of accusing him of turning coward, they parted enough to admit him inside the screen of bodies. Fuery stood in the middle of the group, gingerly holding something in his hands for inspection.
It was Ed's automail arm.
Seeing it was like getting sucker punched in the gut. The rage curdled into sick worry and doubt. Grimly, Hughes stepped forward to take it from Fuery's unresisting fingers. It was much heavier than it looked, and even through his gloves he felt how bitterly cold it was.
"Where did you find it?" he asked, his voice very low.
"In the car the suspects left parked here," Fuery replied unhappily.
Hughes's hands clenched around Ed's automail. This was the hardest decision he'd made in his career. One one hand, there was everything Roy had been working for; on the other, Roy and Edward. He couldn't protect them all this time.
"There is something else going on here. Until we know what it is, we're laying low."
There was a rush of half-whispered objections, because anything louder might have resulted in attracting the attention of Archer's troops.
"Enough!" he said. "If we act now, we risk everything. We've got a real mess on our hands. But Archer –"
"You can't seriously trust that son of a bitch to get them out safely?!" Ross snarled under her breath.
"Lieutenant Ross, you are out of line," Hughes reprimanded, but he felt more tired than angry. "He is acting on the Fuhrer's orders. We know he is... competent, if his methods leave a lot lacking. Besides, you've all forgotten something."
"And that would be?" It was the first time Hawkeye had spoken. She must be really pissed.
"This is Flame and Fullmetal we're dealing with," he reminded them softly. "If anyone has a fighting chance at pulling through all this, it's those two. We have to have faith in their abilities now."
There wasn't much anyone could say to that – objecting would be disloyal. Hughes was glad. Grasping at straws was bad enough without someone ripping them out of your hands.
The heightened senses took quite some getting used to, but Roy had nothing else to occupy him. He hung limply from his shackle wrists, staring at the huge, alien array. Its lines were drawn in spirals and curves. An optical illusion made it seem as if it was swirling lazily. Over the past few hours, his enhanced vision had mapped it out and memorized it. When he closed his eyes, it lingered behind his eyelids.
The ecstasy from earlier had mercifully dulled to a low-grade fuzziness around the edges of his consciousness. At least he wasn't moaning from the air brushing against his sensitized skin anymore. Instead, he was starting to notice a strange tightening in his veins..
"Do you feel it yet? The hunger?"
Sir's words echoed mockingly in his head. He swallowed with a parched throat. God forgive him, he felt it. He tried not to think of it, but it bubbled up through the cracks in his mind like tar. It felt like a basic instinct, the same as the need for food, or water, or sex, and so strong he couldn't lie to himself about it. It coiled within him, predatory and insidious, waiting for him to drop his guard.
Which he would not. He wouldn't let that snobbish psychopath get the best of him, bizarre drugs or no. Besides, he would bet that Sir didn't intend on letting... forcing him to... feed. This was probably all some mind-game he was playing before he killed Roy. Or simply watched him die, in the name of research. It seemed to be fittingly sadistic.
What really concerned him was what the vampire intended for Edward. Another experiment like this one? But no, that couldn't be. If all Sir wanted was a couple more human lab rats, there was easier prey. Besides, Sir had said he wanted to speak with the boy. For what purpose, Roy had no idea, but he doubted it would be a pleasant little sit-down with tea and cake.
Just then, his unnaturally keen ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the hall outside. Muffled voices followed, too distorted by distance for Roy to make out the words. But he recognized the throaty tenor immediately.
Soon the great metal door screeched open. The familiar, yet impossibly more detailed scent of smoke and flame reached him first, followed by the smell of metal, leather, and something light and unique that Roy couldn't quite describe. He knew without seeing that Edward had arrived.
"Mustang!"
A sudden shame came upon Roy then, blindsiding him with its intensity. He didn't trust himself to answer the cry.
Sounds of a scuffle, running footsteps that only stopped once they'd reached him. "Mustang!"
He couldn't bring himself to look up. He didn't want Edward to see him this way. He didn't want to have to see disgust and pity in the boy's eyes, didn't want to have to face the boy when he was this... defeated. Worse, the hunger gnawing within him redoubled now that Edward had drawn near. Something in his scent had Roy's mouth watering as the craving inside waxed more powerful.
"Come on, bastard. Lazy colonel, making me come all this wa–"
Roy heard the movement, felt the air shift in front of Edward's hand, and his body reacted by some imposed instinct. For a split second, he made to spring towards what his senses were telling him was prey. Horrified, he caught himself in the nick of time. He clamped down on the urge and threw himself as far from Edward as his restraints allowed.
"Don't touch me," he managed to grit out. Sternly he marshaled himself into something resembling control. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.
Edward stood in front of him, his expression utterly shocked. Roy would have wondered what he looked like to get that reaction, but he had his own surprise to digest. The boy's automail arm was conspicuously absent. As if the situation needed to get bleaker. He turned away again, now that Edward had gotten the point.
"Stay back, Fullmetal," he said dully. "I – They're trying to make me one of them."
"Not quite, but close enough," Sir admitted, sidling up smugly.
Roy felt a black fury rise in him, and he watched Sir carefully from the corners of his eyes. The aristocrat had one hand on Edward's shoulder, a possessive, claiming grasp. The vampiric instinct and his natural protective streak both raised their hackles, though for different reasons – all of which he didn't want to analyze. Roy fought not to give his inner turmoil away.
"You said this was temporary. That I could help him," Ed was saying warily.
"Yes," Sir said. He sounded almost cheerful. "The success of the experiment hinges on your help, my boy."
Roy felt his stomach flip with sudden misgiving. No, he couldn't possibly mean what Roy thought he meant.
"How do you define success?"
"The Colonel survives the night," came the simple reply. "Are you willing to assist?"
He flinched, a pool of horror formed inside him. He knew what Sir was up to. How high was he, that he hadn't seen this coming? But Edward wasn't stupid, of course he would refuse. He had to refuse. It probably wouldn't matter either way, at this point, but Edward had to know better than to go along with anything this creature suggested.
"What do I have to do?"
Roy could have groaned at the boy's grimly determined tone. Didn't the little fool know what kind of danger he was setting himself up for?
Sir chuckled. His hand on Edward's shoulder slid to gently stroke the bandages at the boy's collar. Fullmetal stiffened, aware of the implicit threat or unnerved by the invasion.
"It won't take much," Sir said. His fingers toyed with the bindings. "A simple enough task. In fact, all you must do is stand still, if you wish. The Colonel will do the rest. Won't you, dear pet?"
Roy stared at the floor. His jaw muscles ached from clenching. "No. I won't."
"But you must," Sir replied lightly. "You know what will happen if you insist on being stubborn. The longer you wait, the worse the experience will be."
"I won't," Roy repeated roughly.
Sir sniffed. "No? A pity."
The hand on Edward's shoulder moved in a blur of motion and Roy looked up. Sir twisted Edward's remaining arm hard behind him. The boy gave a short, sharp cry of startled pain. Roy forgot about the chains and lunged forward.
"Fullmetal!"
"Let go, you bas–nng!" Edward broke off when Sir tightened his hold.
Sir's other hand busily unraveled the bandage still around the boy's neck. Edward's eyes finally widened in comprehension, his breath catching audibly. Then, cursing fluently, he began to squirm like a wildcat. He kicked Sir's shin with his automail leg. Sir, who hadn't bothered to dodge, did not flinch. He smiled widely into Roy's impotent anger.
"You see? If you don't, I will. You have a choice not only for yourself, but for your subordinate."
"Get your filthy hands off him!" Roy found himself snarling before he could think.
Sir just smirked and dropped the bandage. Then his hand circled Edward's throat at the joint of jaw and neck. Whatever curse forming on his lips, it died with a strangled gasp. Sir forced Edward to turn his head, exposing the unmarred right side of his neck. The boy's restricted breath carried an involuntary whine of fear.
"I thought you didn't want him," Sir taunted. He didn't drop his eyes from Roy as he lowered his face towards Edward's neck. "Since there's no changing your mind..."
Roy, for his part, was watching Edward. His face was reddening from lack of oxygen, and his eyelids were squeezed tightly shut as he struggled to breathe. As if he felt Roy's gaze, he chose this moment to open his eyes, which were filled with desperate terror and pleading. Their gazes locked. Something inside Roy lit on fire and crumbled to ashes in the same heartbeat.
He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't let this happen. He wouldn't sit idly by and watch Edward be victimized by this thing. Even if it meant Roy would have to victimize him himself. Part of him was thrilled with the idea, his veins humming in anticipation. He felt sick with self-loathing. It seemed Sir had finally succeeded where the military had failed, and made Roy Mustang into a monster.
"Stop!" the cry tore from his throat.
"What was that, pet?"
He hung his head in defeat. Dully, he repeated through numb lips, "Stop. I'll do it. Just let him go."
Sir chuckled infuriatingly. He released Edward's neck, and the boy began to cough and gasp. His questions started before he'd gotten his breath back.
"B-bite me? Why? What the hell did you–"
"I injected him with the blood of the Nosferatu. Currently, it is devouring him from the inside out," Sir replied with cocky ease. "In order to counteract the effects, he must drink human blood. If left unchecked, he has less than a day to live."
"You bastard. You monster," Edward rasped. Roy couldn't resist a cringe at that. "And this is supposed to make me want to help you?"
"You should be glad I'm giving you the chance to save him. Or will you refuse? Do you care so little for him?"
"Who are you calling so short even his emotions are stunted?!" If Roy hadn't been distracted by the situation at hand, he might have noticed the frantic note in the automatic screen of anger.
Sir's peals of laughter bounced off the scrawled-on walls. "Dear boy, you are too amusing. But I am afraid we must get down to business."
He pushed Edward a step closer to Roy, who stiffened. Once again, the predatory instinct swam to the fore of his mind, but equally strong was his desire not to harm Edward, to not give in to this horrible thirst, to remain human. He knew he'd agreed to it already, there was no sense drawing it out. Still, his muscles tensed all over, and he refused to move or look at the boy. Either option could prove his undoing.
"Master! Master!"
The tension of the moment froze at the interloping voice – young, boyish. A new scent Roy did not recognize reached him. Sir firmed his grip on Edward's arm and looked over Roy's shoulder to where the laboratory door must still be gaping open
"What is the matter, Kerwin?" Sir began in a low, icy tone. "I thought I'd given you a task to see to."
Roy could not see the boy as his back was towards the door, but the panic was naked in his tone. "Master, I was, I swear! I was doing like you said, sir. But – but the military is here!"
Roy looked up with eyes widened. Edward now stood directly in front of him. They looked at each other, and Edward's lip twitched in the barest hint of a smirk.
Relief hit him like a sledgehammer. Fullmetal hadn't been as stupidly brave as he'd feared and had brought reinforcements. New resolve bolstered Roy into straightening his spine. He wasn't a monster yet. He would resist this long enough to get them out of here. They were going to be rescued – provided they could survive long enough on their own.
Ed barely listened as the boy he recognized as his attacker from the first night described the situation to Sir, too focused on not freaking the fuck out. His left arm ached and burned from the prolonged restraint behind his back, and he knew there would be a collar of bruises from where Sir had nearly strangled him.
That wasn't why he was freaking out. He was still reeling from the fact that Mustang was a Nosferatu. Or practically a Nosferatu. And this whole biting thing. When the woman had bitten him, it'd been bad enough thinking she was just drinking his blood. Knowing now that it was his soul energy that would be drained, the prospect of being bitten held even less allure.
But if there was Nosferatu blood in Mustang's system – and there had to be, for these kinds of side effects – that meant that the colonel was dying as surely as from poison. With nothing else to satisfy it, the foreign blood drained the man of his own soul's energy, like a candle burning at both ends. Mustang was still staring at him, his fucked-up eyes oddly glassy. Ed frowned. There was no way of knowing how long the man had been under the influence of the Nosferatu blood. How long before it took a further toll?
Ed didn't know why his chest ached like someone had just kicked him in the ribs. He shouldn't be so surprised. It wasn't like Sir hadn't been dropping hints like crazy on their long walk here. But even had he suspected, what could he have done?
For that matter, what was he supposed to do now? He'd found Mustang, but he'd quickly lost almost every single advantage he'd had. At least Hughes had finally got here. They might not have found him at all if Ed hadn't transmuted the transmitter into his automail arm, and the automail hadn't got let in the car outside. If it had still been attached to Ed, he was sure that the subterranean dungeon with its thick stone walls would have blocked the signal.
And Ed still had a couple of tricks up his sleeve. It was just a matter of getting Sir off of him and distracted long enough to pull them off.
"Seal or block all the entrances to the lower levels. Muster all my puppets for whatever defense they can provide," Sir ordered Neitherworth, who now stood next to Kerwin. "Kerwin, collect Mercy and inform her of the situation, if she doesn't know already. Find out how many we're up against and what their positions are. I'll deal with these two. Go."
"Yes, sir," the two Nosferatu chorused.
As they hurried off, Sir turned his attention back to his captives. His grip on Ed's arm, already painful, tightened further.
"I don't know how you managed to give away our location to your friends," he said in a flatly calm tone. "Suffice to say that you will suffer for this. But thankfully I have the perfect place to put you where you won't be able to cause any trouble."
Hope and dread mixed queasily in Ed's stomach. "Oh yeah? Where's that?"
"The pit."
"Sounds cozy."
"I'm going to let you go. One move towards an array, and I'll snap your neck. Then your precious Colonel will have a slow, painful death to look forward to," Sir said, as if Ed needed a reminder.
"Yeah, yeah," Ed said as Sir let go. He rotated his shoulder a couple of times, then stuck his hand into the pocket of his coat. He posed non-threateningly. "I'll be good."
Honestly, he had been expecting to be searched by Neitherworth at the door. The fact that he hadn't been, that they'd assumed he was harmless without his automail, said a lot about Sir's ignorance of State Alchemists. As if Ed wouldn't come with some kind of back-up. While Sir took Mustang down from the chains, Ed wiggled his hand into an ignition cloth glove he'd brought with him. Granted, it had been intended for Mustang, and Ed didn't know the fine tuning of fire alchemy.
Whatever. Beggars couldn't be choosers.
Mustang swayed on his feet as if he was drunk, and Sir manhandled him to a nearby worktable. Ed looked on as the man was bound again with a pair of manacles behind his back.
"You will carry the torch," Sir said tersely to Ed, not releasing Mustang's bound wrists. He did something that Ed couldn't see but that elicited a grunt of pain from Mustang. "Do not forget I have the upper hand."
Grinding his teeth, Ed stepped around the arrays on the floor with exaggerated care. Sir and Mustang passed him at the door as he pulled the unwieldy torch from the sconce. Luckily, the glove he'd pulled on was the right-handed one, so the array was hidden from view in his palm.
Sir began to lead them deeper into the dungeon. The stone walls here were looking more and more ancient the further they went, and the hall got smaller, with rotten wooden cell doors spaced every few feet along either side. Ed wondered just how old this part of the mansion was. It looked like a hold-over from medieval times.
Ed watched for an opening. He couldn't snap because of the torch, but that also meant he didn't have to. Unfortunately, Sir was keeping Mustang too close to get a clear shot at him. Fuck, how did Mustang do it? Not the at the Colonel was precise, but if Ed wasn't careful he could blow all of them to smithereens. Well, he and Mustang at least. Sir might survive, being undead and all. Come to think of it, Mustang had healed like a Nosferatu would, so he would probably survive, too. If this idea blew up in their faces, Ed was the only one with slim chances.
A gallows grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. As if he would die and leave Al all alone.
Sir brought them to a lit alcove with three hallways branching off into darkness. There was even enough room for Ed to dodge. He took a deep breath and aimed as best as he could.
"Get down!" he shouted to Mustang as he activated the array.
The explosion slammed Ed against the wall and knocked his breath from his body. The torch had splintered out of his hand from the blast, and a ball of fire roared outwards. It caught Sir as he was whirling. Ed just made out his astounded expression before his face started to melt. Sir screamed horribly and was knocked off his feet. He skidded across the ground, windmilling on the ancient cobbled floor, and laid still.
Acrid smoke hazed the air. It stank of burnt hair and flesh. Ed tried not to gag as he regained his breath. He stayed low and called out above the ringing in his ears.
"Mustang? You with me?" Ed had seen him twist in Sir's grip before the dazzlingly bright flames had obscured his vision. A sudden, sick stab of panic. What if Mustang hadn't been able to get out of the way in time? What if the Nosferatu healing ability wasn't strong enough?
But an eternity of a second later, a cough and gravelly reply, "I'm h-here."
Ed released a breath shakily. He made his way towards the sound of the Colonel's voice, bothered by how reassured he was. But the meager sense of security was washed away once he came close enough to see the damage Mustang had taken.
Mustang's back was to him, and his entire left side was a tattered mass of charred flesh. Ed froze, horrified at the damage he'd caused. But even as he watched, Mustang's skin healed over, seamless, scarless. Then a violent tremor racked the man's body. Without quite consciously meaning to, Ed found himself kneeling down next to him.
"Mustang, shit, I'm sorry, I – oh, man, I thought you'd be able to dodge in time and, ah fuck –" Ed found himself babbling. "A-are you okay?"
"Not really," Mustang said weakly, and Ed knew it had to be bad for him to admit it. "Next time, leave the fireworks to the professionals, Fullmetal."
"No argument here," Ed replied.
He looked anxiously toward the smoldering heap of limbs a few yards away. If Mustang had healed that fast, what was taking Sir so long? Then it struck him. Sir, however powerful, only had a limited amount of soul energy. If his body became too damaged, likely the healing process would be slower. Since Mustang's own living blood was what fueled it, the Nosferatu blood in him could just burn right through however much energy it needed.
Which, ultimately, only advanced the poison's progression. Fuck, why hadn't he thought of this before?
"Can you stand?" he asked. They didn't have much time, and his actions had just sped the clock.
A heavy breath. "Yeah."
Mustang used his hands to lever himself up slowly. The chain holding the manacles together had luckily snapped in the fracas, and the uneven ends rattled as he moved. Ed moved to steady him when he swayed, but the man flinched away from his hand. Ed looked at him oddly, and noticed that the red in his eyes had grown much more prominent. That had to be a bad sign.
"Do you know the way out of here?" Mustang asked.
"I think I can find it. But we need to get back to that lab first," Ed said, forcing himself to focus. He needed more information. There could even be an antidote for Mustang there.
"Is that Hughes outside?"
"Yeah, him and the whole gang. You're pretty popular for a bastard," Ed said. He pucked another torch from the wall and handed it to Roy. Then he held out his hand, displaying the glove. "I think you forgot something last night, by the way."
Mustang tugged the loose, overlarge glove from Ed's fingers and gave him a reproachful look. "I think you forgot something more important than a glove. Like your hand."
Ed kindly overlooked the way Mustang's own hand shook. "So? I still kicked that guy's ass. And I'm saving yours, so quit bitching."
They began to backtrack quickly. The typical back-and-forth of their insults seemed to be helping Mustang get his equilibrium back. Already he was acting more the bastard colonel than a broken man in chains. Ed felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He began to think that maybe they'd get out of this yet.
Archer didn't like to command from a bunker, as many of his contemporaries did. It was not because of some sense of nobility, the pride of past generals who laid their life on the line alongside their men. A battle simply was more exciting in the midst. He was a man of few pleasures, so he felt justified in indulging this one, especially since it often meant he was quicker to respond to new developments.
A stairwell full of zombies, for example.
His sidearm was in his hands, and he spent the clip into something that might have at one point been a young woman. The thing sprayed foul-smelling chunks when the bullets hit it, driving it back. But still it snarled and came at him. The last bullet hit it square between the eyes, and its head exploded like an overripe pumpkin. Finally, it fell, joining the other three corpses on the ancient steps.
Silence followed, broken by the ragged, fear-soaked breathing of his search team.
"Baker, status report," Archer barked with remarkable composure.
"S-sir. All clear ahead for now, but they got Kaufman," Major Baker replied. In the sharp lighting of their flashlights, the Major's gore-spattered face was pale.
Warrant Officer Kaufman had been in the lead. The first creature had gotten the drop on him before the rest of them were near enough. Archer tried not to look at the body. He was not a squeamish man in any sense of the word, but Kaufman looked chewed.
The Fuhrer was right. These terrorists really were monsters.
His men were making slow progress to begin with. The sheer size of the building had made it necessary to split into four teams to cover more ground. So far, no one had radioed to tell him they'd found the hostages. Neither had they radioed to tell him of any other threats.
"We've got to be on the right path," Archer said to his three remaining men. "They wouldn't station a guard if there wasn't something they don't want us to find. Onwards, men."
"Sir!" they chorused. Queasy as they may be, they were all his own, hand-picked for their blind loyalty and respect for the chain of command.
As they pressed on, Archer reflected. The loss of Kaufman was a pity, but it was practically a military tradition, letting the sheep find the landmines. Archer knew he'd have no trouble finding a replacement among the new recruits on the base.
But if he had been thinking, he would have let Hughes go in first.
The echoes of gunfire could be heard all through the dungeon, but that was not what roused Sir.
Power. Red and lush and burning, it flooded him, filled him, spilled over across his skin. The wounds Fullmetal had inflicted healed over with a tingling rush, and Sir writhed as the power continued to build. He felt a low, sweet ecstasy grow within him, hinting at something marvelous and terrible, something like the Gate itself -
And then it stopped, sudden enough to feel like a door slammed in his face. He moaned softly in protest.
"Was it good for you, too?"
Sir frowned at the voice, low but androgynous. He didn't recognize it. Warily, he opened his eyes.
He was still in the dimly lit alcove. The smoke had cleared visually, but the stink of it still burned Sir's sensitive nostrils. His fine clothes were disgusting, burnt rags, soaked through with his blood in places. It hadn't had time to dry, though, so he couldn't have been unconscious for long.
Kneeling next to him was Kerwin. Sir stared and looked around. That hadn't been Kerwin's voice he'd heard, and that smug look certainly wasn't one Kerwin had ever worn in his presence.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Kerwin sat back on his heels, evidently pleased by this question. The aristocrat felt as if he'd passed some kind of test. Then there was a quick shimmer of alchemy, revealing a completely different person where Kerwin had been. Sir didn't waste time by becoming alarmed. Obviously, this newcomer had done something to help him. And based on Mercy's descriptions, he already knew who this person was.
"Homunculus," he whispered, awed in spite of himself.
"Someone give the man a prize," the homunculus said with an expression loosely related to a smile. "Guilty as charged."
"Have you come for Fullmetal?" Sir asked. He sat up cautiously. The creature made no attempt to stop him.
"Maybe. Not that it's any of your business. You're going to need a new message boy. The last one didn't hold up so well."
He sighed. Of course Kerwin had bungled it, the stupid boy. Sir lamented aloud, "It is so difficult to find good help these days. If not Fullmetal, why are you here?"
"You're after the Philosopher's Stone, right? Well, I have decided to give you the chance of a lifetime." The homuculus smirked condescendingly.
He wanted to bristle, wanted to wipe that snidely superior look off the creature's face. He was royalty. Why did no one show the proper respect? Sir bit his tongue, though. That taste of power, the ambrosia that was the only thing sweeter than fresh blood, was enough to remind him that he had not yet achieved his ultimate goal. If this homunculus was going to offer a way to attain it, Sir was prepared to tolerate a little impropriety.
"By all means, do go on."
Ed and Roy reached the lab just as the first shots rang out. They were muffled and distant, but even in a house this large the reports were too loud to be silenced. Ed swallowed down both his hope and his worry. The shots were a good sign, meaning that Hughes and company were getting closer. But it also meant that they were fighting something, and if it was the Nosferatu...
"Edward," Mustang said. Ed realized he'd stopped in the doorway.
Sheepishly, he hurried inside. The glare of the electric lights stung his eyes, which had grown used to the dim, flickering torch. Ed made a beeline to the nearest note-covered worktable, rifling through the papers. He curled his lip in disgust. Sir obviously was not a very experienced alchemist. He hadn't put his notes in any kind of code at all. Ah, well, at least it made Ed's task easier.
"What are you looking for?" Mustang asked. He'd put the torch in one of the sconces and joined Ed at the table.
"I'm trying to figure out what that freak did to you, and if there's a way to cure it," Ed explained, flipping through a notebook only to toss it aside a moment later.
"We know what will cure it," Mustang said flatly.
"We know what he told us will cure it," Ed snapped back, grabbing another sheaf of papers. "He could be lying. And anyway, I don't think these are typical Nosferatu."
"What? You know something?"
"Yeah, I, uh, borrowed one of those texts you were talking about," Ed admitted distractedly. "These things are the result of some pretty gruesome human transmutations, a lot like the Homunculi."
They'd gotten mildly lost on their way back, and the extra time it'd taken had proven to Ed that Mustang was faking. More than once Ed had caught Mustang weaving and stumbling as he walked, and every time Ed got too close, Mustang would tense up. Sure signs that he didn't want Ed to realize how weak the poison in his system had left him.
If there really wasn't a cure here – and there hadn't been much hope of one to start with – he was just wasting time they didn't have. Worse, there might not be any time left to wait for Hughes. In the bright lighting, Ed could see that Mustang was paler than ever. His breath came in soft panting huffs, which their brisk pace had excused before, but not now. Ed watched the darkening mark of Thoth on Mustang's chest rise and fall rapidly.
Then he looked away quickly. Now was not the time to be staring at the man's chest. His toned, hairless, sweat-sheened chest. Goddamn hormones. They were trapped between a pissed off master vampire and his underlings and zombies, while other people risked their lives to save them, and here he was getting distracted.
Another burst of gunfire sounded. It went on for longer this time.
"Fullmetal, we need to get moving," Mustang reminded him unnecessarily.
"Dammit," Ed said, tossing the notes down.
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure this is nothing a transfusion at the hospital won't fix," the colonel said. But his eyes were redder than ever as he looked at Ed and quickly away, and his words were strained.
"I'm not so sure about that."
After all, if it was the soul energy from the victim that fed a Nosferatu, would a bag of blood from an anonymous donor pack the same punch? Would it still be connected to the donor's soul? He thought not, or Sir would have started raiding blood banks instead of kidnapping people.
He resisted a frustrated growl. He was running out of options. If he had more time... If he knew that Mustang would survive with a simple transfusion...
If the sacrifice is willing...
Ed swallowed. Well, it wasn't as if he had never sacrificed part of himself before. He hadn't felt like he'd had less of a soul since he'd been bitten by the girl vampire. And it was his fault Mustang was in such bad shape to begin with. Hell, it was his fault these things had even done this to the man. In this case, with would only be equivalent.
"Hey, Mustang," Ed began slowly. He turned to catch Mustang's eyes with an intense stare. "Bite me."
Mustang's eyes widened, and the flimsy mask slipped. But he recovered quickly.
"More insubordination, Fullmetal?"
"Dammit, I'm serious and you know it," Ed said urgently. "I'm not stupid. The shit Sir put into you, it's killing you right in front of me. And I didn't come all this way to carry your corpse to Hughes."
"You might not have to. Around here, I'd probably keep walking on my own."
"Okay, gross. Don't get all morbid on me."
"I'm not the one asking me to drink your blood." There was a note of panic in Mustang's tone, though he tried to keep it level.
"And I'm not the one being devoured from the inside out!" Ed snarled. He understood Mustang's hesitance, but they couldn't afford it. "We don't have time for this. You keep this up, and you'll pass the fuck out. You'll slow us down, and we might not get out."
"If that happens, just leave me behind and get to Hughes."
"Fuck that! I'm not leaving this place without you, bastard!"
His vehemence startled him as much as it did Mustang. In the brief pause that followed, Ed felt his cheeks warm, and he fought the urge to look away. Mustang turned his gaze away, and the mask dropped completely. Ed could see how strained and weary and ill Mustang really looked.
"E-Edward, I can't –"
"The hell you can't. You were going to before."
"That was different!"
"That's true. You weren't this bad off at the time," Ed said. He took a calculated step closer to the man, who tensed immediately. "Don't make this difficult. It's not that big a deal. People donate blood every day."
"This isn't just donating blood," Mustang insisted. His voice had dropped to a low growl, and Ed fought not to shiver. "I – I could really hurt you."
"You won't."
"You can't know that for certain."
"Mustang, look at me," Edward commanded.
With palpable reluctance, Mustang met his stare. Ed could sense the battle being fought inside him, could make out the fear and the hunger lurking in the depths of his eyes. The strength of the emotions startled him, but he refused to back down now. The guns were still too far away, and for all they knew Sir was up and kicking and coming to kill them. It was now or never.
"You won't hurt me, Mustang," Ed said. As soon as he did, he knew it was true. "I know you won't. You're not like that smarmy creep."
Mustang's expression was wholly uninterpretable for a long moment, and then he bowed his head. In a voice that was mostly breath, he said, "Promise me you'll stop me. I – I don't know if I'll be able to once I –"
Ed didn't know what the man expected him to do with only one arm, but he nodded anyway. Mustang took a shaking breath and closed the distance between them. One hand rested on Ed's left shoulder, and the other pushed his braid off the right. Ed felt his breath hitch when feverish fingers brushed the skin of his neck, pushing the collar away.
Mustang's body was barely an inch away. Heat radiated off him, and Ed had to swallow hard. It hadn't felt like this the first time he'd been bitten. Then there had only been fear and pain. This time, there was a little fear, but his body was confusing him with this other reaction. This slow burning that rose from his navel. Ed did his best to ignore it, but he knew he was blushing like an idiot. He repeated to himself that this was only necessary, that it was practically clinical, even when his hormones were mixing this up this with something else entirely.
"Edward... are you sure?"
Angry at himself and scared Mustang had picked up on his discomfort, Ed tilted his face away to bare the right side of his neck. "Yes. Just get it over with."
Mustang watched him with eyes darkened and intense. Then he lowered his head, bending to bring his lips down to Ed's neck. He hesitated again. Ed almost gasped when he felt the man's breath against his skin. "I'm so sorry."
And then Mustang bit him.
It hurt, but Ed was prepared for that. In any case, Mustang's fangs weren't as large as the true Nosferatu's, and he only had the top set. It wasn't that bad by comparison. Ed held very still, and Mustang's hot mouth formed a neat seal against the wound. Ed felt his blood flow, but not a drop spilled down his throat.
The colonel growled, the sound resonating through Ed and sending an incomprehensible tingles across his skin. His mind buzzed with blurred thoughts, but his body fairly thrummed as Mustang's hand moved from his shoulder and caught the back of his head to hold him still. The hand that had moved his braid suddenly clutched his hip, pulling him closer until they were flush against each other. Ed bit his lips and tried to remember to breath, but something was kindling within him, and it felt like...
Like... alchemy.
It was hard to describe. It felt something like when he clapped – energy circulating through him and building. But different. There was more, there was something else, something not dangerous but foreign. Something not him. It was like how you hum and a tuning fork hums back. And it was getting stronger, resonating, filling him until he felt like he would burst –
Suddenly Mustang tore his mouth away. Ed's neck tingled strangely as he turned to meet the man's shocked expression. Ed didn't even have to ask – he knew Mustang must feel it too. The energy hadn't dissipated in the least, it sparked between them like a livewire. And it hurt, holding onto this much power all at once. It had to go somewhere.
Desperately, Ed slammed his hand down onto the table.
The surge of energy nearly flattened him. It was enormous, endless. It was all he could do to keep it from slipping out of his control and activating every single array in the lab. Instead, he directed it into the stonework beneath. As if in slow motion, the rock flowed in transmutation, spiking outward from where he and Mustang stood. It grew as it sped from him, rising like a wave with a bass rumbling that shook Ed to the core. It crashed up against the ceiling – and kept going..
The lights went out in a shower of sparks. Now the only light came from the snaking, crawling tendrils of alchemical energy. The wave became more wedge-shaped, forcing its way up and up and out and the ceiling started to cave in around it - Ed stood transfixed by the alchemy that poured out of him, unable to release his hold on it for fear it would rebound – and there was so much of it, too much, and he felt something slipping away...
The last sparks of alchemy died out a moment after Edward went limp. Roy blinked, noting dimly he could still see as well in the dark. He gaped first at the wreckage of the lab, then at the boy in his arms. He gave voice to the only semi-coherent thought in his head.
"What the fuck?"
His next thought was that he'd killed Edward, but he could feel the boy's heart beating against his chest frantically. He quelled the panic and guilt as best he could, but his self-control had long ago been stretched to the limit and beyond.
The ceiling gave an uncertain groan, and Roy looked up at it. Cracks in the stone leaked dust and crumbled rock. It could give way at any moment. But the huge mound of transmuted rock had sealed the only entrance.
Almost relieved there was something immediate and pressing enough to distract him from the insanity of the situation, Roy cast about for any means of escape. His eyes followed the curve of the mound. It wasn't too steep to climb, and a fresh, cold scent cut through the reek of spilled chemicals and dust. It must have gone all the way to the outside. And there looked like there would be room to
Right.
Hefting Ed, he started climbing. He barely noticed Ed's weight and took long strides with ease. There was nothing left of his unsteadiness from earlier. Everything felt vivid and dreamlike, a deep satiation purring within his bones. He'd feel better about it if Ed was conscious.
The incline had punctured through various rooms as it rose, and it'd done so with enough force that the walls had been blown out as if from an explosion. Roy was just glad that there was enough room to stand upright. He focused all his energy on moving forward. Finally he saw the end of the man-made hill. It went through an outer wall and continued into space, cresting like a wave. Roy ran along it and halted at the edge.
He was in a courtyard, and it was freezing and dark. Five troop transports fanned out below him. He was high enough to be on the second or third story of the mansion, and almost directly above two transports, one of which had a bizarre dish-like object spinning on top of it. As he hesitated, he made out a buzz of activity below.
He could see as if it was daylight, despite the fact that thick clouds obscured the night sky. He could see Fuery and Havoc, pointing at him and yelling something that Roy didn't have time to listen to. He firmed his grip on Edward, and jumped.
His landing was surprisingly light. The thick drift of snow nearly froze him solid, though. He remembered vaguely that he had lost his shirt at some point. He'd curled himself protectively around Ed, and as he straightened he saw Havoc, Breda, and Fuery approach.
"Holy shit, it's the colonel!"
"And the boss!"
"What?!"
Roy looked up as the familiar faces of his unit gathered around him. He heard them all gasp, and a humorless smile tugged at his lips. Ed's reaction to him hadn't been forgotten. He wasn't surprised, but he did wonder what caused his people to gape. He knew he was nearing hysteria when the idea of having a blood-mustache nearly set him off into a fit of giggles.
Hughes pushed his way to the front - and stopped dead when his gaze landed on Roy.
"You look like shit, Maes," Roy said, because it was the truth.
"You're one to talk," Hughes snapped. He wasn't doing an impression of a goldfish, as the rest of the men were, but his eyes burned with shock. "What the hell happened in there?"
"I'll explain later. Right now, we need to get out of here and to a hospital," Roy said, standing. He cradled Ed in both arms, and the boy's bangs tickled his neck.
Hawkeye stepped forward, bearing blankets. Roy avoided Hawkeye's glance, not wanting to see her recoil as well. She wrapped a blanket around his shoulders in an almost mother gesture, tucking it carefully around Ed as well. Roy felt awful for making her worry.
"Get them in the van, Havoc," she commanded briskly when she drew away. "Fuery, get a hold of the E.R. and let them know we're coming. Archer should be notified as well."
"Actually," Hughes said, a slow, glittering smile creeping across his face, "I think I'd like to tell him myself. You know, man to man."
TBC
To the Readers:
Okay, this is where I get all cheesy. I really want to thank everyone who's read this and encouraged me. I was surprised at how many new readers found this while I was taking my sweet time updating, and if I never replied to your comment, it's because I have patchy internet access and an even patchier memory. Sorry. ;;
But anyway. I've been going through a lot of horrible RL crap, and I came really close to abandonning this fic because of it. But every time I was about to throw in the towel, I'd get a comment on LJ or a review on and it would remind me just how much I wanted to finish it. So, thanks for providing the motivation, and thanks for reading. It really means a lot to me.